


More Than Meets The Eye

by shinigami_yumi



Series: In Another Life [3]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Erik had been the one to break into Charles's Westchester mansion that night in 1944 instead of Raven?</p><p>It is September 1962. Charles and Erik stayed on as professors at Oxford after finishing their doctorates and hear about the Cuban Missile Crisis on the news. They return home to discover the mutant hand in the coming war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Meets The Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly un-beta-ed, but I got a second opinion from my best friend.  
> Hopefully, we didn't miss anything. Cookies for your thoughts? <3

Charles is cooking dinner with the television on in the kitchen when Erik lets himself back into the two-bedroom apartment they share a twenty-minute walk away from Oxford. He puts his bag down on the chair before wrapping his arms around Charles’s waist in greeting.

“What’s for dinner?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the other’s temple.

Charles leans into the embrace as he continues slicing onions and chuckles. “You’re all sweaty! I’m making cottage pie.”

“It’s already September. Don’t you have research to do, lectures to prepare?”

“Nothing I can’t do here.”

“Should I shower first or do you need any help?”

Moving the onions to a plate, he starts on the celery. “Wait for me. Why don’t you mash the potatoes? They should be ready.”

Erik gives him another kiss, this time on the cheek, before heading over to turn the stove off. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles watches with a smile as Erik levitates the pot and strainer to drain the potatoes. There are some very practical applications for Erik’s gift, some more appreciable than others, but none nearly quite as impressive as the precision with which he shapes the little figurines lining their rooms or the force exerted in turning the satellite dish back in Westchester. Charles doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of this.

Once everything is in the oven, they head into the bathroom, manoeuvring around each other in the shower with the ease of familiarity. Charles remembers the first time they’d showered together with fond amusement.

A fifteen-year-old Erik had been making the first of his many figurines when Charles snatched it out of his hands, mostly to get his attention, but also because Charles was quite impressed. He made Erik chase after him for it all the way across the garden, and then they somehow ended up in the lake together. Erik got the figurine back, but lost it as they were splashing each other, a problem he only discovered when they were almost back at the mansion some hours later. Dismayed, Erik ran all the way back with Charles at his heels asking why he couldn’t just make another one.

“It’s almost perfect!” Erik protested without even glancing back. “It’s supposed to be for you!”

And then he’d made Charles very proud by locating and retrieving it with his power.

The little aluminium Merlyn is still his favourite piece of the Arthurian chess set Erik slowly made for him over the years after they’d read the first three TH White books together. The set now resides in a glass case in his room whenever they aren’t playing, and he cleans and polishes it every time he returns to New York.

They got back to the mansion drenched and shivering, not even bothering to remove their clothes before getting under the hot spray to warm up. As they sat hand-in-hand in the shower, still fully clothed, he rested his head on Erik’s shoulder and contentedly told him, “You’re like Galahad, Erik. Perfect.”

“Nngh, I’d rather be Arthur.”

Charles giggled. “A king?”

“Mm,” Erik agreed. “But mostly because Merlyn’s always with him.”

“What are you thinking of that’s got you wearing that silly smile?” Erik asks, pulling him close and interrupting his reverie.

“Just remembering how Galahad wanted to be King Arthur,” he replies a little breathlessly, tilting his face up to kiss his lover.

“Still about that? Sometimes I wonder if you really are living through time backwards,” Erik mutters, pressing him back against the wall, and for the next fifteen minutes or so, Charles doesn’t really think about anything.

~*~

The news comes on as Erik is making the steel baking pan float from the oven to the dinner table, and the headlines are almost enough to ruin the evening’s contentment. There is growing suspicion that the Soviet Union is building a missile base in Cuba.

“Erik, let’s go home,” Charles suggests quietly as Erik sits down.

The other begins eating. “If nuclear war is coming, isn’t New York less safe? Well, I suppose it’s only a matter of time before the entire world is engulfed in the crossfire, so it probably makes no difference.”

“It does. The bunker is back home.”

“Bunker? We have a nuclear shelter?”

“We do. My father and Kurt took the possibility of nuclear war very seriously. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. It never mattered before.”

Erik looks down at his food in silence for a long moment, pensive. “You want to resign just before the term starts?” he says at length.

“I’m sure the university would understand. Even if the linguistics department will be disappointed to see you go.” Charles pats him on the shoulder.

Erik scoffs as he serves them each a slice of the pie. “Only because they don’t know who we are, _what_ we are.”

“Things will change, Erik, but that takes time. Changing the minds of people is a very slow process. They’re still having trouble accepting a different appearance and way of life, let alone a different species.”

Erik sighs, sitting down. “I know. I’m just tired of hiding, Charles, of having to look around to make sure no one is looking every time I can’t be bothered to walk across the room just to get a bloody pen, of pretending we’re just cousins whenever we’re outside together and that I’m not jealous whenever you feign an appropriate level of interest in the surrounding women.”

Charles doesn’t have to feign it, exactly, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he finally starts on his dinner and replies, “Just because we’re not interested doesn’t mean we can’t be nice and appreciate the view.”

“Next you’ll say you have to find a girlfriend and go steady because people expect you to produce heirs to your estate.”

He puts his fork down emphatically. “I would never do that to you.”

Erik stills, his fork upright in his dinner. “Sorry,” he says at last.

It’s still a full minute of awkward silence before Charles resumes eating.

“When do you want to leave?” Erik asks, changing the subject.

Charles reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. “Would you mind next week?”

“Of course not.” Erik presses his lips to Charles’s knuckles. “I’ll type up the letters.”

~*~

“Ah, Adrian Clark,” Charles greets warmly as he enters the reception hall, a hand extended to the bespectacled young brunet. “When I received your invite, I thought news sure spreads quickly around New York. I arrived barely a week ago.”

“Charles Xavier,” the other responds with a laugh, taking Charles’s hand and giving him a brotherly hug. “I hear I should call you Doctor now, three times over even. Here, meet my fiancée, Petra.” He indicates the blonde beside him, an ornate golden diamond choker accentuating the simple elegance of her emerald satin balcony dress.

There is a hint of nervousness to Petra’s smile as she greets Charles.

 _Ah? She’s one of us,_ he tells Erik. Aloud, he says, “Congratulations! That necklace looks stunning on you,” as he shakes her hand.

Erik gives her a closer look. If possible, she seems even more discomfited by the remark. _I didn’t think we’d meet any others. What does she do?_

 _Oh, Erik, how impressive! She made those diamonds herself! I should like to speak with her about her gift sometime. She can manipulate earth, it seems._ He turns to Adrian. “You’re a very lucky man. You’ve met my cousin, Erik, haven’t you?”

“Indeed I have.” Adrian and Erik exchange a firm handshake. “Dr. Lehnsherr. All these doctorates in the family.” Adrian claps Charles on the shoulder. “Well, I’m sure you won’t be running out of wall space in that mansion of yours.”

“What about you? What have you been up to since Harvard?”

“I entered the mining business with some help from my uncle some years back, which is good business, but you’re right on, Charles; Petra here is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Ever since we started going steady, my people have been discovering diamonds in the copper mines. It’s as if she’s Fortuna herself!”

Charles smiles knowingly, but only suggests a visit to the buffet table. They each take a small plate of food, and when Charles and Adrian turn to find a table, Erik casually lets Petra see him pick up some silverware without actually reaching into the basket. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t remark on it as they move to join the other two.

 _Erik, that’s dangerous,_ Charles chides without so much as a glance in his direction.

_You wanted to speak with her about her mutation. Now she will come to us._

This time, Charles squeezes his shoulder briefly while snagging two glasses of wine from a passing waiter’s tray. _Your safety, my love, is far more important to me. But thank you._

“Well, I’ve found my goddess,” Adrian says with a laugh, wrapping an arm around a now slightly less nervous Petra, and Erik resents, more than anything, that he can’t do the same to Charles. “What about you, Charles? When will it be your turn? I hear there are plenty of stone foxes among the co-eds at Oxford. Broken any hearts yet?”

“A few,” Charles admits with a chuckle. “I’ve yet to meet mine though. I’ll be sure to let you know when I do. Hm?” He blinks, looking over Adrian’s shoulder at a small group of people conversing animatedly. “Say, who’s that talking to the Governor?”

Adrian turns to look before leaning closer to Charles with a grimace. “Oh, that’s Colonel Hendry. He was the strongest supporter of the move to place Jupiter missiles in Turkey, which is what started this mess with the Soviets in Cuba in the first place,” he answers in a low voice.

“I see...” Charles replies, distracted. He furrows his brow.

 _Charles?_ Erik nudges, concerned.

 _That’s...not Colonel Hendry._ The telepath drops his glass, but fortunately, the table is only half an inch below its base. _Oh... Oh my God._

Out of the blue, the Colonel drops his plate, and Erik’s eyes widen as the man sinks to his knees, metamorphosing into a blue...woman with red hair. “Oh my God,” he echoes aloud even as she gathers her wits and realizes that everyone is staring. _Charles, did you..?_

_No! I was just looking through her memories. I think she noticed and got distracted. Shit, we have to help her, Erik._

Suddenly, everyone is shouting. People are panicking, and Erik doesn’t get a chance to respond as the woman runs for it. Charles gasps and chases her to the window just as she vaults through to escape into the night.

_God, Erik, she has friends, mutant friends! They’re trying to start nuclear war. They’re the ones who told the Soviets to put missiles in Cuba! Look._

Charles shoves the memories at him and among them, Erik sees a face that makes his blood run cold. _It’s him, Charles. It’s him._ He can never forget. The face of a monster.

“Jesus Christ,” Charles breathes, turning to him, blue eyes wide with horror.

“Charles,” he snarls, grabbing the other by the shoulders. Remembering where they are, he switches back to telepathic speech. _You know she’s working for him to start World War Three, and you want to help her?!_

“Erik...” Charles looks up at him helplessly. “I...” _She’s pregnant._


End file.
